Conversation With God

It was after my new, perfect infant son was fast asleep.
After the rumblings of our point of refuge had settled.
More importantly, after the screaming voices still echoing
in my head, had finally silenced.
I sat - feeling lost in my blank slate soul.
Full moon glow bathing the room in comforting black & white.

He just sat with me;
allowing me to gather my thoughts.

"I can't cry anymore. It hurts.  It hurts too much,"
as tears rushed like a river in search of its ocean.

Silence.

"Why?" I screamed over & over to Him.
At Him.
And He let me.

Silence.

The shadows holding their secrets.
I
staring into the abyss.

"Where do I go? I'm lost."

"You're not lost.  You're Here."

"How do I fix this?  How do I even begin?"

"You're in the Palm of My Hand.  I'll carry you."

Calm rushed over me; warming me.
I no longer felt cold on that hot summer night.
And so a Pact was made - much stronger than
those in the past.
I bowed my head; letting His Truth in.

"I put it all in your Hands, God -
my journey, my future, my son
my life."

I felt His angels wrap me in
a comfortable slumber; their wings
gently guiding my form to its
precious needed sleep.
Before I closed my eyes, the room
began to sparkle.  A whispered rush
filling me.
Sleep
Finding me.

His whisper echoing in my soul

"Now you will begin."

Divine Master Plan

From this moment on
Life will never be the same
Everything that happened
Minor and major events
All the people met
Acquaintances; the greatest of friends
Indeed, the tortured souls included
Were strategically placed
Methodically planned
Every detail well thought out
Mere seconds not excluded
It all had to happen
Everything
Divine reason
Beyond my own small reason
Shaping and
Reshaping
Blotting out the blight
From the foliage in my mind
Planting new thoughts
So new lessons may be taught.

Letting Go

I'm finding it very hard
To write about the
Painful past
When in fact
It's been my blessing
In disguise.

The Good, Goodbye

They stated their claim
With such false bravado
Girls who call themselves
Women
Who could not look me in the eye
The twitching foot
The nervous breath as one spoke
The other nervously swallowing
Her own self regret
And I in my steel
Cold chair
Continued to stare
The face of calm
In their attempt
To paint funeral balm
On a colorful life I am
Now painting
She finally looked up
Surprise in her eye
And I smiled in the face
Of her callous lie
No
This was no
Good, goodbye
I smiled and thanked them
Never asking why
No need to hear
Another smear
So I went home
And filled up another cup
Of my own good cheer.

Whatcha Gonna Do?

Whatcha gonna do
When you're pushed
In a corner
And the slip of some
Other's tongue
Slithers out unexpectedly
When your legs feel weak
and the whole world seems
meek?
You'll walk away with a
gleam in your eye
knowing
this was not
your last goodbye.

A New 2 am

It's been said
2 a.m. is for the poets
But it's also for the
Survivalist
Beating out her hefty claim
Removing the emotion
Maintaining the objection
And feeling no shame.

Cold Front

The sleet sounds like
Tiny glass beads as it
Rustles the
Dormant
Decaying
Foliage
Wind blowing so hard
I can hear the
Clouds scraping the
Edge of the
Black hole sky
Shadowed sounds of
Thunder
Far off in the distance
And then
Silence
Abrupt
Final
As the dense
Frosty air
Hangs heavy
In its proclamation.

*written on 1/16/14 which is of importance to me; marking the start of a new storm.  Life is nothing in its expectations and everything with the unexpected. 

Vanishing

All that was meant to
Break me

Vanishing

Screaming
Pain

Vanishing

Recollections
Turned into
Nightmares
Turned into
Haunting
Idealizations of
An obscured
Reality

Vanishing

Doubt
That tends
To shout
In the
Silent
Corridor
Of my cerebrum

Vanishing

A girl that
Simply reacted
Never really
Feeling

Vanishing

The picture
Of the woman
I had always
Imagined myself
To be
Now
Not so faded
Rather
A
New reality.

Finding Me

Finding
Beauty
After pain
Glowing sunshine
After cold, hard rain
Moving past the
Turbulent
Inner voices
Highlighting
Haunting choices
Walking
Bruised & battered limbs
Tingly sensations
No longer numb
Feeling beginning to
Settle in
Beginning to see full view
Instead of through
Foggy lenses
Loving
Eradicating
Overreacting
Slowly burning away
Burning anger

Methodical process
I find
In
Finding me.

The Colors of My Bruise

Bruises to my spirit
So deep
Almost reaching
My soul
Not so quickly fading
Hidden from view
Tucked deep down
No longer
Black
No longer
Blue
Resurfacing
Interlacing
With my
Healing phases

A dusty shade of
Mauve
Opaque
A shadowed hue

Why Ya Gotta Be So...

Why ya gotta be so
Justifiably sweet
Making me forget
I have my darkness
To meet
Replenishing my
Soul
With your
Positive roll
Oh
Why ya gotta be so
Really
Really
Cute
I think of things I'd
Like to tell ya
But then I see ya
My voice goes mute
Why ya gotta be so
Sing songy
Wonderfully
Melodically
Singing
All the time
You make this girl
Bust out a
Rhyme.

All in All

All in all
I'm doing
Just fine
My life is a
Wreck
Always waiting
For my
Next
Pay check
I'm tired
All the time
And time
Isn't always a
Friend of mine
But I
I have a
Beautiful mind
A son
That shines
Like the sun
I've my own
Laughter to
Chase away the
Tears
I've my dreams
To chase away
All my
Fears
Being tired
Isn't so bad
I sleep really good
My pillow is
Always glad
All in all.

Nature Walk

I need a
Walk in the woods
Not just in the
Poetic sense
I need the
Cleansing experience
The sound of the
Trees
Stretching
The ethereal sense of
New foliage
Growing
The mystical feeling of
Wind blowing
Through me
Alive with nature.

Is It?

Is it PTSD
Or is it
My mind
Playing tricks
On me
Is it depression
Or simply
Retrospection
Am I really lonely
Or is my heart
Ignoring my mind
Playing her
Continual melody
Is it really
That cold
Or is my soul on fire
Passion behold.

Adjusting Sight

Sometimes
I have to
Step out of the
Snow globe
To be able to see
Past the thousand
Falling
Glittering
Blinding
Snowflakes.

Ashes to Ashes

There are just
Some things I
Cannot forgive
So
I focus on
Burning that
Deep pain
Watching the
Ashes drift
In the wind.

Write it Pretty!

Write a pretty poem
Make it starry
Unbelievably magical
It's what people say
They want
Skip over all the
Precious steps
As we stumble
Out of darkness
Into glorious light
Ignore the
Meditative mind
As it quietly
Methodically
Rips through
Gripping emotions
Of pain

Life isn't always
Pretty
It molds you
Breaks you
Reshapes you

Poetry
The reflection of
Human emotion
Art
Imitating life
A celebration of
Light diminishing dark.

Painting Over Gray

Bare walls
A lonely shade
Of gray
Pick out the
Perfect shade of
Sweet pink
Only to find
The color
Muted
Stubborn undertone
Bleeding brush strokes
Giving the room an
Imperfect mood
Gray
Seeping through.

En Garde! (Edited Version)

Verbal fencing
Clashing
Differencing
En garde!
Step step
Verbal slice
Step step step
Thrice
En garde!

Digging my way
Out of the
Wall
I
Imprisoned
Myself in
Always tucking my
Sword
Behind my back
Just out of view
In case of
Surprise attack

Internal process
External lesson
I seek a
New impression

Let go the sword
To those
Companion warriors
Standing
Ready and
Willing
At my side

En garde,
Non!

En Garde

Verbal fencing
Clash
Differencing
Tucking the
Sword
Behind my back
In case of attack
Wielding it freely
Without care for the
Fractured crack
Internal process
External lesson
I seek
A new
Impression

Precious lesson
For this
Novice warrior
Yield not
The sword to
Companion warriors
Standing
Ready and
Willing
At my side

En garde
Non!

3 P's of Healing (Patience, Perseverance, Passion)

Of course there are more key levels to healing, but this is the key recipe for hard times; things to remember during the darker days that unexpectedly creep up.  I'm hoping to configure a blog post detailing my healing process.  I just have to make it make sense to even me.  Remember.  I'm a thinking person first.  Enough of that.  The 3 P's are waiting.

Patience
First, and foremost, have patience with yourself.  There is an extreme in leaving an abuser; going from one emotional spectrum to the other end in a nanosecond.  It can be very exhausting and very overwhelming.  Learning who you are helps.  In the beginning, you simply don't know "who" the real "you" is.  Expect that; the not knowing.  It's ok.  Just so long as you're patient enough to take the time to get to know you.  I defined myself with my abuser.  Sounds strange, but it's very common.  It's what the abuser wants.  In leaving that environment, everything normal seemed outlandishly abnormal.  I remember friends hugging me, congratulating me.  It was a shock to my system for a long while.  Until I "let" them hug me.  Meaning, I decreased my resistance to normal and worked on redefining it.  My new normal, if you will.  At first, the smile I obliged them and the sterile thank you became easier.  A new habit was forming and it started feeling really good having people congratulate me and hug me.  Touch was not so foreign and insane at that point. 

The other part of patience is having patience with those around you.  YOU know your story and how much it hurts but other don't and maybe they are curious and want to help.  Be patient with that process.  I was on my 12 week pregnancy leave from work when I left my husband and started the divorce proceedings.  I had time to review how I would tell my friends and co-workers.  It was a big life event that I didn't want to hide but I also wanted the respect and maintain a semblance of sanity during that insane time.  During my maternity leave a co-worker held a baby shower.  I attended.  I wanted to cry for no real reason at all and for a thousand reasons, all at the same time.  I pulled her aside and told her the bear minimum.  Another co-worker heard, came over, and we had an impromptu pow-wow because the other co-worker was in a similar situation. We talked, we laughed, we cried.  I gave only a brief rendition of my story; it was all new.  It was enough.  By the time I arrived at my job for the first day back from my leave, my office had a welcoming party.  Imagine 20 women gathering around offering everything from babysitting services to a night on the town (both, in fact).  I soaked it all in & eased them into the "letting."  I call it that because that's what it is.  You're letting yourself talk and tell and letting people into the process.  A call of arms in your battle to remain a strong survivor.  They had many questions.  I was patient with that.  Why tell your story, if you're going to get angry with the inquisition that will surely come.  It doesn't make sense.  Stay patient.  Not everyone lives a horrific, abusive life but they want to know if they ask you for further details.  They want to help and if all they can do is listen, you damn well better let them.  It helps everyone.  I can't speak enough on the Patience portion of this.  I used to be so impatient.  I'm being forced to be patient and there's a reason for it.  It's part of the healing process.

Perseverance
I was in a narcissistic sociopathic abusive relationship.  Big fancy word that means my ex husband does not like "losing." He will (and does) do anything to make each step in the legal battle as hard as he possibly can.  Drawing out the court proceedings; knowing I have to miss a day of work each month.  Drawing it all out in order to see me to either intimidate me or force submission.  Making comments as we wait for the judge to hear our progress in the visitation process.  Comments designed to make me feel guilty.  Perfectly fine by me.  I expected that and no less from him.  I know how to distance myself from him in every possible situation.  I thought of every detail.  I learned what exactly a narcissistic person is.  Knowledge is key.  In this case, my silence has been absolutely golden.  Not acknowledging his mind game and not partaking in any of it.  My communication style immediately changed.  It had to and I knew it.  So, internally, I practiced what I might have to say to him in any given situation.  Calling the police always helps, too.  Which I did on 2 separate occasions.  It sent the message very clearly that I would no longer tolerate being intimidated.  If I cannot personally handle his psychological dysfunction, I know professional people that can.  People that I pay tax dollars to in order to keep me and the rest of the public safe.  They're called police officers and lawyers and they took my concerns seriously.  The random phone calls and text messages immediately stopped.  The intimidation stopped.  I was the third woman to report abuse against him.  To the survivor reading this, you're not his only victim.  Remember that.  You hold the key to your safety.  If the situation warrants it, call the police and file a police report that will be forever on his record.  For you and for any other unknowing soul that crosses his path. You must stay persistent in this stand; this new life you're choosing.  He knows you as only the "victim". You must define for yourself what exactly it means to be a survivor and hold strong to that.  He doesn't know this "survivor" you, so the process may be rather lengthy.  After a while, he'll get bored or tired or lazy or all three.  He'll learn you're no longer willing to play games.  I find it very helpful to limit the communication, block unknown phone numbers he calls or texts from, and keep whatever communication is necessary concise and to the point.  I'm not his friend.  I'm not willing to discuss anything further than my own comfort level.  I did my homework and I studied hard.  The lesson was learning "me."

Passion
Ahh.  My favorite part.  My passion.  I always had it; writing.  The key was to keep nurturing it.  Once the dust settled, I was able to let it all out.  It took a while for me to be honest in my poetry and in my writing, in general.  Honest in my head, yes, just not always honest with the prose.  I hid in my earlier poems.  Always pretty, positive prose.  Now, it's part of the healing process.  Before, I was writing to some unknown audience.  Now, I write strictly for me.  So, my courageous survivor of anything in this brutal life, find your passion.  You like to paint?  Get dirty and mean with it.  Make it pretty and spectacular.  Make it anything you want it to be.  Like music?  Crank that mother loving stereo up and have yourself a ball.  Dance?  Dance until your little toes go numb.  It's you.  Nothing says who you are like what you're passionate about.  Who knows? It just might help ;)

Glass Pebbles

The path
You now
Walk upon
Is paved with
Tears
Hardened into
Glass pebbles
Of the ones
That went
Before you
Tread lightly
Tread carefully
This is your
Most important journey
We all fight battles
The toughest battles
Were fought
Long before
You
Started yours.

Time

3 years!
3 years!
Time
Time
Time
Marching
Rapping
Her beat
Enough of
The sorrow
For old crows
To feast
Watching the
Tick
Tock
Clock
Waiting
To be
Unleashed
Enough is enough
I'm sick of the
Sorrow & stuff
Wallowing in
Despair
Taking steps back
Another layer of my soul
To repair
Wake me up
When it's all done
I want to dance
Play in the sun

*Time is only an illusion.  A man-made perception.  3 yrs to our mortal count, but right now time is passing quickly.  I wrote this poem to highlight how most survivors feel.  We all want to hurry up the process of healing.  That cannot be done.  Not if you're going to heal correctly.  Take this time to get to know you.  You'll be dancing before you know it.

Tiny Tot Wisdom

He was playing, watching me getting ready this morning.  Doing his normal 3 yr old thing.  I made a comment about the day; something completely nonessential.  He turned to me and said "I love you.  And I'm so proud of you."  I nearly cried.  I think the earth stopped spinning on her axis for a fraction of a second.  I picked him up and kissed his sweet, chubby cheeks and told him how much I loved him.  When I said thank you, he shrugged his skinny little shoulders, smiled and said "It's true."

My boy never ceases to amaze me.  I am learning so much from him. 

Strength

Do not ever call yourself weak.  Ever.  The very fact that you survived abuse means you are stronger than anyone can possibly imagine.  Your iron will to survive and become the person you were meant to be is strength defined.  You'll have your moments.  We all do.  You'll keep going, though.  Not because you don't have a choice.  Because you want to.  Not everyone will understand.  That's ok.  Rest assured, there will be always be at least one person willing to listen.  Talk and let it all out.  By doing so, your strength will continue to grow.  So when the dark days come (and they surely will), you'll have a stable foundation. 

To The Ones Still In It..Gathering Courage To Leave

This is how it's going to happen.  He will do or say the one thing that will ignite your soul.  It will come unexpectedly even though you've been expecting it all along.  All your well-laid out plans will come as an insignificance.  In fact, you'll forget out the plan and just focus on getting out.  You'll go to that friend's house and swallow your pride as you ask for help.  They'll be glad to offer you temporary solace so don't worry about being their burden.  Remember.  You were isolated from them and now is their one big chance to help you in the greatest way they can.  Let them.  Or you'll go to a family member's house.  Go.  Don't think about the details just yet.  Getting out is important.  What if you don't have that friend or family member?  Then take yourself to that women's shelter.  You're smart and very resourceful.  I'm giving you a hint, here.  Do your damn homework.  Find a list of women's shelters if you think you might need one.  I've been to one.  Solely for counseling purposes.  The beauty of it is that you will be surrounded by women in your similar situation.  Free counseling.  A warm bed.  Resources to help you find a job and re-establish your finances.  They will give you clothing if you have to escape with just the clothes on your back.  Free food.  This is no time to be proud.  Pride will kill you.  And then pray.  Pray like you've never done before.  Cry.  Like you've never cried before.  Talk.  You have a voice and your soul is hurting.  The pain needs to be released.  Write a letter detailing all the hurt and then burn it.  No.  You do not need him.  No.  You are not going back.  Yes.  You are strong, beautiful, and intelligent.  You deserve a life free of pain caused by a heartless person who only likes to watch you suffer.  Your life depends on this one, great, important decision.  Go.  Leave.  And don't ever look back.
|

Learning to Love

I look in the mirror
And I'm so proud
Of who I see
A beautiful woman
With the promise of
The future
Stretched out before her
My first task was
To love myself
And baby
I do
My knight in
Shining armor
Cannot find me
If I cannot find myself
Far better for me to
Appreciate him
When I can appreciate
Myself
I'm learning to love
The old fashion way
Love myself first
Before I ever decide
To give my heart away.

Noticing Changes

He comes later to pick him up and drops him off earlier each time.  Through it all, he has a well rehearsed lie.  I hear it and I see it in his eyes.  The change he can no longer hide.  The thing about me, I learned at a very young age to notice things.  Being an introvert in an extroverted household wasn't always easy, but it sure taught me a lot.  When I stand back and stand quiet, the real persona of the person hiding behind the mask is revealed.  It's only a matter of time.  Change has been slow in the making but it's happening.  I feel stronger everyday. 

Compare Not

I did a terrible thing.  I read the stories of survivors and compared my story with theirs.  I actually thought "My story isn't nearly as tragic." Oh.  But it is.  The sexual abuse I still cannot speak or write about.  The verbal abuse that lingers in my head like a black monster in my head on my darkest days.  The emotional torment that played tricks on my psyche.  The constant anxiety of never being good enough no matter what I did.  The threat of what was to come if I didn't succumb.  Feeling absolutely numb.  The isolation from friends and family.  The mask of complete happiness when deep down I was dying a little more everyday.  The loss of my own inner voice.  Add it all up and it's pretty tragic.  His words punched me.  He got his actual punch in the physical form and that was the last time.  The one and only time.  But what about the times he got in my face screaming at me, calling me bitch and a whore?  Or the countless times he shoved me against the wall?  Or how about the time he purposely broke something I absolutely treasured?  Getting in my face when I needed my personal space?  The money he stole.  It can't be recovered.  It's on the street corner like a crack whore, now.  And just what about those countless times I did actually succumb?  Coming away from it all feeling like a used, cheap prostitute.  His idea of romance was telling me to perform oral sex on him or "You will regret you were ever born."  That.  That I resisted.  And I paid.  My soul came away bruised.  Oh, and the countless lies.  Or maybe his absolute truth of telling me he would bring "other women in" to "show me."  I never felt like a woman around him.  I felt like a child begging.  Which is why I still find it rather difficult and strange to say "please" and "thank you." 

No.  Do not compare.  Abuse is abuse and it's tragic, no matter how it's played out.  I find the punch is the easiest for me to forget.  The verbal much more difficult to maneuver around.  The intense threats that came at a moment's notice.  Always catching me off guard, which was his whole idea.  Keep me under wraps.  The good thing is that I didn't play submissive very well.  It just isn't in my nature, no matter what anyone might think.  I was born with a mouth and I used it.  But that's the thing, it was always a fight.  An extreme confrontation.  He knew I would do anything to avoid confrontation and that I would be the one to apologize first just to keep the peace.  There was no peace.  Peace found me the night I left with my baby in tow.  Even then, I knew I was entering into the biggest battle of my life.  God, but I still have my writing.  My poetry.  My soul's diary.  I vowed to remain brutally honest with myself.  Thank God.  It has saved me.